I was up with the pigeons and took my car to be serviced. It is iced with mud from woodland excursions, but I did tip a generous bucket of water over it to wash off the Sahara sand that arrived a couple of days ago.
It would be nice to go for a walk, but the pollen is thick in the air this morning and I'm blinking through grit and breathing through soup. Maybe the antihistamine will kick in. Meanwhile, I write.
Hysterical barkydog, who lives in an indeterminate location and who signals its distress all day every day, hasn't been put outside to yelp yet, so it's quite peaceful.
Morning thoughts drift through my head. Why isn't the Chirpomatic app called Cheepo? Did someone else trademark that? Why didn't I patent the... oh no, I'm not going to say that idea. Someone will nick it!
Would it be scary if I left courgette plants on neighbours doorsteps if they weren't in? I've rehomed two already.
Should I prepare for this afternoon's work meeting, or go out? How far should I go? Should I wear shorts? Do I dare to eat a peach?